


Up Against The Wind

by Fanfictions14



Series: Stranger Than Love [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, Child Marriage, Dubious Consent, Eventual Fluff, F/M, MAJOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Smut, So much angst, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfictions14/pseuds/Fanfictions14
Summary: Violet Baudelaire knows she's on borrowed time. The money is running dry and she has yet to let her husband of five years get a taste of her bodily endowments. What gives first? Her resolve or his patience?





	1. Prelude to Bruise

It ached. Knowing what she had to do to ensure her survival and that of her siblings. Her heart was broken, her innocence left in tatters, her resolve all but disintegrated. The stage lights nearly blinded her, and the only relief she could find from their harsh damning glow was the tears pooling at her almond-shaped eyes.

Do not let him see you break. Do not step out of line. Be strong Violet. Hold it together. It was like that time in Paris many summers ago with mother and father and Klaus. She had climbed over the protective railing of the Eiffel Tower's peak to get a better view of the city and slipped, barely hanging on to the structure's precipice. She panicked and started to slip, her trembling fingers providing little support for her lithe body. Father leaned over and spoke to her firmly but comforting, "Violet Franchesca Baudelaire., you are strong and powerful and resilient. Fear is the greatest temptation that this world will ever offer you. NEVER submit to it. NEVER give in." Oh Father. If only he could see her now.

Violet steeled herself against the bright lights, the watchful audience, and the sneering face of her guardian. Her captor. Her betrothed. With a calm, even tone, she pursed her lips and murmured, "I do," then, after a very pregnant pause, "I do," this time louder and biting, like scratching glass along a thick sheet of titanium. That's all she could ever be now. Impenetrable.

She could practically taste the smugness radiating off of Olaf as Justice Strauss produced the Fake But Real Marriage Licenses for them to sign and pens. Violet briefly considered striking the walkie from Olaf's lapel and running to the front of the stage, exposing him for the homicidal, money-hungry, egomaniac he was. But he had been very clear. ANY funny business and pop goes the weasel. The pop being the cage, Sunny being the weasel. Could Violet ever be so selfish? If she allowed Sunny to meet her doom by fouling Olaf's plan, she was as good as giving the damn order. No. No this was best. For everyone. 

She leaned forward and signed the license, barely receiving enough time to add her last flourish before the rogue had seized it up in his hand and said "Ahah! There is no need to continue this play! I am now legally married to Violet Baudelaire and that thus means the Baudelaire fortune is mine!" There was a cacophony of righteous indignation, shocked gasps, and the pittering of weak applause from his small group of cronies. Olaf basked in it, the drama.

Justice Strauss, immediately realizing her true role in this treachery, was beside herself. Mr Poe was in no better shape, his fiery protests cut off intermittently by his incessant cough. She didn't blame them. They tried their best. They really did. But adults were stupid, and all the ones who weren't employed their wits in the name of treachery, like Olaf, or mystery, like her parents. The good ones always died before their time, leaving a trail of misery in their wake. Mother and Father.

As Olaf roughly escorted her through the angry, confounded crowd, Violet wondered which one she'd turn out to be. She wondered which option ended in freedom and as they ascended through her husband's dank, dim halls, she resolved to never grow old enough to find out. She could atleast afford herself that victory, if no others.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: TW// GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF R*PE AND BL*OD

The first night in his bed was an absolute nightmare. The room so eerie and still, she could hear the silence. After unceremoniously dumping her onto his stiff, dusty mattress and shucking his wedding clothes, Olaf bumbled under the duvet and turned his back to her. She did not know what to think. She certainly had gotten ideas about what to expect and he had surprised her by not following through with the sacred, final, and terrifying part of their ceremony. She hated herself for how that somewhat pained her. 

"Just fucking get it over with!" She burst, after several maddening minutes of silence.

The lanky buffoon plopped over onto his side to acquaint his cold, shiny eyes with her wet, frightened face. 

"Get what over with?" His single, bushy eyebrow rose almost three inches on his forehead as he sat up and pushed himself from the bed, stalking over to her like she was skittish prey soon to be turned fresh kill. "Oh...." he said, smirking devilishly and cupping her delicate features between his hands. "My dear...you've got this all wrong," he purred, as she braced herself for what was to come. The Count grinned at her and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. "I may be a villain, darling but I'm no damn monster." He pulled away with a final caress of her cheek and made his way back to bed. "Now come on. Get in. You have an extremely long day of chores ahead of you and you're going to need your beauty rest."

Violet gingerly followed suit, climbing under the covers and turning on her side. Of course he didn't deserve it, but she couldn't help but feel thankful for the tiny sliver of mercy he'd shown her by allowing her to claim her purity. Still, every twitch, turn, and grumble he made through the night shot her well-invested anxiety through the roof. He was such a fitful sleeper for a man who could take comfort in knowing he'd just inherited one of the world's largest fortunes and he was, by far, the biggest villain. Violet slept little that night. And it seemed she hardly ever would again.

*

Two years saw them through to an uncomfortable peace. She cooked, she cleaned, she served. He plotted, planned, and connived, sponsored by her money. Klaus and Sunny had been shipped off to boarding school and Violet, though allowed to write them, was never granted permission to see them. Not even during summer. It was a bitter loneliness, an emptiness that would never redeem itself for anything more righteous.

Still, she found comfort in tinkering. Oftentimes, during her chores, she could be seen with her hair tied back by a ribbon, her eyes glazed over with dreaming up new inventions to make her work bearable. Little scraps of metal and wire would go missing here and there, weeks later replaced by tiny gadgets and gizmos that served strange albeit useful purposes. 

What she hated more than him, were his rules. Dress this way. Eat this thing. Do this chore. Shave these toenails. He wielded authority like a knife, keen to bring her closer to breaking with every order. All she could do was keep silent and obey. That bought her small privileges such as an inventing room and the preservation of her purity. 

Never once had he touched her though she knew the temptation gripped him from time to time. On occasion, he'd reach out a scraggly finger and brush a lock of hair from her face, his touch lingering a few moments too long. Once in the kitchen, he'd snuck up on her to give her a small fright, as he was often wont to do, and had grabbed her by her shoulders, causing her to gasp and turn. Too close to his pointy shoes, she tripped and collided with him, causing them both to tip and fall onto the floor. Violet's pelvis landed square on his legs in an accidental straddle and she could feel a sizable bit of throbbing pressure against her belly. He turned beet red, and she flushed, scurrying off to her inventing room and resurfacing only hours later. 

One night, Olaf and his band of degenerates were drinking and causing a general ruckus. Their house was often filled with chaotic drunken noise. She flitted from one vagrant to another, filling wine glasses as they drained. Violet hardly ever got a moment to herself during times like this when they were hosting these so-called "parties". The clamor and scoundrelism were too much to take yet she had little choice and even less say in the matter. 

As the wine bottle emptied, she retreated to the kitchen for a moment's reprieve. Sighing heavily, she bent down to grab any dark bottle of liquor her delicate fingers would grace first. It didn't matter much. They were so drunk they'd know no difference. Lost in her spiteful thoughts, she missed the creaking of the kitchen door and the scrape of a sturdy chair against the doorknob. Before she could even process what was happening, a dual sharp pain ambushed her pelvis and sent her reeling. She could feel little else than the warm rush of blood down her legs and then she was on the floor, the cool air of the drafty house rushing to meet her between her legs. It was only when the cold was replaced by the blunt agony of rock hard flesh, did she start to scream. 

Something rapped her across the back of the head, disrupting what little thought capacity she had left and silencing her. 

"Shut up you little bitch!" He growled, gripping her with his hooks where he'd cut her open, the flayed flesh of her gored pelvis rubbing torturously against her dress. He was on top of her, all around her, and inside her. She knew she would die. She could feel herself slipping away 

He bit her on her ear and she screamed once more, begging for this agony to stop. Begging for Olaf to come rescue her. In all her years, she had never wanted anything like that. But now, she needed it. 

Fernald grunted and panted his way to completion above her and then turned her over. In that instant, she knew she'd never forget this: the pain, the despair, his evil, cackling eyes as he claimed her. If this, a robbery of her senses, her siblings, her fortune, and freedom, is what life would be like, may death come swiftly. That was the last thought she had before there was the sound of a loud pop, a rush of wet warmth across her face, and darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!
> 
> Tell me what you guys think. This is my first time writing a fanfiction in a while.


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